


I'm Talking to You

by Leidolette



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leidolette/pseuds/Leidolette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout goes down on Miss Pauling. Nothing changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Talking to You

Base got kind of weird sometimes after the workday was over and all the adrenaline was gone. Yeah, most nights one of the guys would start up a card game or something, and there were usually plenty of cold ones in the fridge, but sometimes even Scout wanted some time to himself. So he'd wander around the service trails on the edge of the property, or find some pole to throw rocks at. Evenings like that, Scout would start to realize just how damn big the desert was. Nothing like back home at all.

Scout was saved from one of those weird, homesick moods tonight by a purple movement spotted out of the corner of his eye as he emerged from the team locker room. His heart leaped up and fluttered in chest -- Miss Pauling!

She hadn't spotted him yet, so he rerouted his meandering course to match with hers and he caught up in no time. She was looked focused as usual, and was keeping a brisk pace. In her arms she held a bulky metal box. It looked heavy. 

"Hey there, Miss Pauling," Scout said. She half startled in surprise when she noticed him at her elbow. "Here, let me get that for you." Aiming for gentlemanly behavior, He reached for the large box in her arms. 

"No, Scout-"

"It's okay, Miss Pauling, I got it." He tried casually flex his muscles so she'd see that it would be no sweat for him to carry it. 

Miss Pauling twisted away from him again and stopped walking. She looked him dead in the eye. "Scout, this box contains binders that are full of decades of Mann Co.'s most closely guarded secrets. Do you want the Administrator to know that you've handled them when not authorized to do so?"

"Oh. Uh, no," said Scout, a little taken aback. 

"Besides," she said in a more conversational tone, beginning to walk again, "The box is cuffed to my wrist anyways."

Sure enough, a solid-looking chain ran from the clasp of the lock box down to the handcuff around Miss Pauling's wrist. Scout could see it now that she'd angled the box towards him to let him look. 

"Huh, guess you weren't kidding about them being serious." The sight of the cuff around her wrist made him inexplicably anxious, so he kept talking (which he probably would have done anyway). "Lucky my Ma didn't have a set of those when I was a kid. She was always getting on my case for losing my mittens and school papers, junk like that. She used to say I'd lose my head if it weren't attached. Hell, I think she still says it."

Suddenly realizing that this anecdote made him sound less-than-cool, he hurriedly added, "Not that my Ma is the boss of me or anything! I'm a man. A full-grown man. Who's really strong. She just... calls me on the phone sometimes." There, that was a good save. He conveniently blocked out the knowledge that Miss Pauling had access to all the phone records and probably was aware that he was the one who called his mom nearly every day. 

"Mmhmm," said Miss Pauling distractedly, glancing at the watch on her free hand, though she had smiled a bit at the last part of his story. "Look, Scout, I really have to go. There's just so much paper work I have to with the new weapons coming in and, of course, the constant destruction caused by everyone here at the base."

"How about I escort you then? Keep you company, make sure you get where you need to go? Come on, you know nobody's gonna mess with this," he said, sweeping his hand down over his pecs and abs that he _knew_ looked good in this shirt. When she sent him a Look, he quickly said, "Uh, I mean, nobody would mess the both of us together." 

"Uh huh," she said, distracted again, and already picking her pace back up. "You can tag along if you want."

So he did tag along, because spending time with Miss Pauling was better than most things, and definitely better than an evening spent being kind of aimlessly homesick. 

Miss Pauling walked quickly through the base, stopping every now and then to check various readouts and gauges at the stations they passed. Scout chatted pretty much the whole time, and even got a few "Mmm-hmm"s for his trouble, which he counted as a success. All this trailing along behind her also gave Scout a chance to ogle the hell out of Miss Pauling's butt, which he counted as a _wicked_ success. He lived for Miss Pauling's ass in pencil skirts. Oddly, it also felt like it might be the death of him too, with the way his heart went off sometimes.

She was also wearing a pair of grey Keds today instead of her usual black flats. Must have had a pretty active day then; a lot of running around. Man, Scout would never have thought that he would become the kinda guy who noticed what type of shoes a girl was wearing, but when it came to Miss Pauling, it felt like no detail was too small to lodge in his brain.

Somewhere around the seventh station stop, one of the laces had come loose on Miss Pauling's shoes and was dragging on the ground. Blocked from her sight by the unwieldy box she was carrying, she didn't notice right away. 

"Uh, hey, Miss Pauling, your shoe's untied," Scout said, interrupting himself in the middle of one of his long, self-aggrandizing stories, and sounding kinda dumb even to his own ears. 

Miss Pauling looked at him suspiciously. "Is this some kind of setup for a joke?"

"No! It really is untied. Look, you're holding something, I can get it."

A stray hair had fallen out of her bun and into her face, Miss Pauling tried to blow it away, and then she sighed. "No, I'm okay. Well thanks for telling me, Scout. Let me just find a place to set this down--"

She moved towards towards an abandoned desk that had been shoved against a wall. Christ, this was practically a replay of their earlier conversation. "C'mon, Miss Pauling, let me do this for you." He put a light hand on her elbow and tried to sound sincere. 

Miss Pauling stared at it for a half second, then her eyes flicked back up to his. He wondered if this was the first time she had been touched outside of a life-or-death situation in while. It was for him. 

Maybe she saw something in his eyes (or decided something within herself), because, despite him fully expecting her to say no, for whatever reason, this time Miss Pauling just gave a little shrug. "Okay, Scout, go for it."

Now that she'd given the go-ahead, Scout suddenly felt hesitant. Then he felt stupid about hesitating, but still the feeling stayed. He sunk down quickly, before all his pausing made Miss Pauling think that he didn't know how to tie shoes, and then he was down on one knee in front of her, like he was about to pop the question or something. The thought made his stomach flop, and he kinda didn't know what to make of that. 

From this angle, the hemline of her skirt seemed higher. He could see just above her knees. 

Whoop-de-doo, right? Seeing a girl's knees? But suddenly Scout was beginning to understand all those old-timey English guys scandalized by a lady's ankle, because Miss Pauling's legs were quickly becoming the most erotic thing in the world. 

He was taking too long again. He was lucky that the bulky box blocked him from Miss Pauling's line of sight, so she couldn't see him stare at her legs. He fixed the one shoe that was untied, and then the other, just in case it happened to come loose later. It seemed fine, but, hey, who knew. 

It was time to stand up now. Miss Pauling's laces were tied into tight little bows, double-knotted for good measure, even. But Scout didn't rise -- except, after a heavy moment, for his hand, which trailed up Miss Pauling's ankle and then around to lightly cup the back of her calf. 

Scout was uncomfortably aware of his heart, which was beating so fast and so hard that it was starting to make him breathe more quickly too, though he was just kneeling there. He looked up for Miss Pauling's reaction, but her face was still hidden from view.

He waited for something, anything.

After a beat, Miss Pauling set the heavy box on the desk next to her, revealing her at last. Her handcuffs jangled in the silence. She looked down at him and she seemed... intense. During almost all their time together, Miss Pauling had always had half her mind on her never ending job, and the next task that she'd have to complete. Now, though, he had her full attention and it made Scout want it all the time.

Keeping his gaze locked onto hers, he brought his hand up just a few inches higher, and lingered over the soft skin at the back of her knee. Her legs were so warm, even though the layer of pantyhose.

"Do you..." Miss Pauling trailed off, which made Scout even more nervous, because that wasn't like her. "Are you..."

"Yeah?" Did that come out shaky? Nah, probably not. He was sure it sounded fine.

"Are you trying to initiate oral sex?"

Jesus, he can't believe she actually said it, albeit in the most clinical way possible. Still, it made a shivery feeling shoot up his back. "Yeah," was all he could say.

"Oh my god, the Administrator is going to kill me," she groaned and let her head fall back against the wall.

Scout let his hand fall away. He shakily made to rise. "Oh, uh, that's a 'no'? Okay, that's cool, that's cool. Yeah, I'm just gonna go--"

"It's not a no."

"So... that's a 'yes,' then?"

"Are _you_ sure?" she asked him back. 

He almost laughed. This was a no-brainer. "C'mon, Miss Pauling," he said gazing up at her, voice thick, "Let me do this for you."

"Okay--," she cleared her throat and swallowed, and then when she spoke next she was all business. "Okay, Scout, go ahead."

Fuck. Holy crap. It was showtime. He began to lean forward. 

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Just this though, okay? Nothing else. And you can't tell anyone."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." His mind was already on the task in front of him. Namely, making sure it was good for her, and looking cool while doing it. 

Scout knew a lot of his buddies back home didn't like doing this for girls. He was generally pretty ambivalent about it himself, though he had done it a couple times before as a prelude to... other stuff. Y'know, fucking. 

Now, though, it was like his mission. Miss Pauling had asked him for something, and he could damn well give it to her.

His hands were back on her knees now, and moving up her thighs, pushing her skirt up as he went. Each inch revealed more and more. A dark purple skirt, a white slip, and, under that, sheer pantyhose covering tan underwear. A completely no-frills operation there, but it was revving him up like nothing else. But it was Miss Pauling, what did he expect? Even her brush-offs got him going sometimes.

It was about the time that he was thinking about pulling down her underwear that he realized that her pantyhose had to go before he was getting anything else off. 

"Don't snag them," Miss Pauling breathed when she realized what he was doing. He carefully slid them down her legs along with her underwear and, after taking off her shoes, put everything together in a pile on a nearby stool that within arms-length and looked clean. And then she was bare from the waist down in front of him, with her skirt and slip rucked up and hiding nothing. 

Oddly enough, even through the haze of lust in his brain, her bare feet struck something in him. They looked so vulnerable on the cold cement floor, and it seemed so wrong that Miss Pauling be vulnerable. He quickly covered her toes with his hands until they were warm while he kissed her inner thighs. Her foot jerked back a little when one of his fingers brushed what must have been an especially sensitive spot. 

"Scout! That tickles, you're killing me here." It was somewhere between a laugh and an admonishment, but she was smiling for the first time since she'd led him into this out-of-the-way station room.

Her laugh honestly helped him relax a bit, despite the extreme unreality of the situation. Miss Pauling was half-naked in front of him, and hot in his hands. His eyes flicked between her face and the rest of her body. She definitely seemed ready, her gaze steady on him and her lips slightly parted. Time to get started. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her, before sliding one of her thighs over his shoulder and leaning in towards the V of her legs.

Then his head was unpleasantly jolted by the brim of his hat bumping against her midsection. He had totally forgotten he was wearing it. "Heh," he tried to laugh through his nervousness, and he tossed the cap aside in what he hoped was a casually smooth motion.

"I wasn't kidding earlier about the keeping this a secret thing," Miss Pauling said, out of nowhere. Her voice was just a half-pitch higher than normal. "You really, _really_ can't share this with--"

Scout leaned forward and put his mouth on her, getting over his earlier uncharacteristic stillness. The rest of whatever Miss Pauling was going to say was transformed into a noise that somewhere between a hiss and a gasp. Scout found the sound incredibly satisfying.

She was shockingly warm, was the first thing Scout thought. He started slow, like he knew he was supposed to, even though it was a trial not to just put pedal to the metal right away like he always did. He could do this thing right -- he _had_ to, really, if he ever wanted something like this to happen again. Slow and steady (at least at first) wins the race, and, hey, Scout was all about winning.

After a couple of minutes, though, Miss Pauling seemed to have other ideas. Her breathing was getting faster, and she started pushing back against his tongue impatiently. He managed to clue in, and began to speed up, switching up his rhythm a bit too.

"Like this, Miss Pauling?" he asked when he pulled his mouth away for just a moment.

"Yeah, yeah," she breathed.

Now her hips moved against him in a rolling motion, and he went with it, keeping his tongue going the whole time. He always had thought they'd make a good team. He wanted to ask her more, about what she wanted, or talk about how good she felt right now. He wanted to somehow keep up a constant conversion with Miss Pauling while still going down on her, and it was so frustrating that he couldn't. 

His hands slid up the backs of her thighs until he could squeeze full handfuls of generous ass. He let out something that was a cross between a hum and a moan against her -- it was ridiculous how long he'd wanted to get his hands (and more) on her here. Before he had even known her name, he'd thought about grinding up behind her. Might not be the most romantic thing in the world to tell Miss Pauling, but if she ever asked, he would gladly tell her how long he'd wanted to bend her over a table, or the amount of times he'd gotten killed on the battlefield after getting distracted by thinking about her lips around his dick. He'd probably keep going until he babbled out the exact number of days it had been since he realized just how badly he wanted her to meet his ma.

In retrospect, maybe it was for the best that his mouth was already busy -- made it harder for the 'I love you's to spill out.

The holster on the inside of her thigh pressed into his neck. The gun was thankfully on the other side of her thigh, but the soft leather straps of the holster rubbed against him in a not entirely unpleasant manner. And then, he felt something else. Her free hand had come down from where it had been gripping the door frame and lightly held the back curve of his head. Her fingers caressed through his short hair and down to the nape of his neck, over and over again. In contrast to her rather forceful hips, her touch was so, _so_ gentle, and Scout responded with an involuntary, full-bodied shiver. Distantly, he wondered if she could feel that too, through his lips.

He palmed himself through his pants a couple times, hoping that the action wasn't beyond the loose terms of this encounter. It wasn't enough to get him off, but the extra stimulus sent a jolt through him and set him to his task even more enthusiastically (if that were possible).

He could hear the handcuffs jingling against the metal lock box again. He picked up his pace. His hands wandered up and down her body, squeezing her breasts and ass and thighs -- he couldn't keep them still. Miss Pauling didn't seem to mind, if the noises that she was making were any indication. His heart was thudding so hard. Though he was on his knees, he felt massive; bigger than Heavy, even. 

Yeah, she was really getting into it now. The hand at the back of his head was clenching and unclenching in his hair, the thigh that was pressed against his ear started to shake. Holy shit. The muscles in her legs were _so_ tight and the hand he had pressed over her stomach might as well have been covering a steel cable under just a thin layer of softness. Her breath was coming in short gasps -- it really couldn't be long now.

Then the radio at Miss Pauling's hip crackled into life. Scout barely heard it at first through the haze and the heat in his brain, but when the Administrator's voice started barking out of the speakers, it was pretty hard to ignore.

"Miss Pauling! You're late! Where is the information you're supposed to be delivering?"

To be honest, even the cutting voice of the Administrator might not have stopped him at that point, if Miss Pauling hadn't pushed back on his shoulder. He looked up at her as she hurriedly unclipped the two-way radio from around her waist to respond. He tried to clear his head as Miss Pauling ran through a quick conversation (while he was still between her legs) in a convincingly calm voice that consisted mostly of her saying 'yes, Administrator.'

"So that's it? You really gotta go?" Scout asked as soon as she flipped the switch and the radio was silent again. "C'mon, stay for another minute or two, Miss Pauling, you haven't even finished."

But she was already shaking her head and easing her leg off his shoulder. He managed to get to his feet without staggering, but it was a close thing. His knees were numb from the cement floor, and his thighs felt like jelly -- a quick run later was probably in order. The tenting of his pants was ridiculously obvious, though neither of them commented on it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Miss Pauling was gathering up her clothes and talking more to herself than to him. "I can't believe I did this. Oh my god, the Administrator really _is_ going to kill me."

Scout started to have an unpleasant suspicion. "Wait, can she see us?"

"What? No," she said, her attention coming back to him a little. "The cameras in this wing are out for upgrades. Did you think I'd do this in front of an audience?"

"No! No way are you that kind of girl." Then Scout realized that twenty minutes ago he hadn't really thought she would be the kind of girl who would let him go down on her while she was at work in a room filled with instrument panels, so it might be smart move to keep all avenues open. "Uh, unless you are the kind of girl who's into that?"

Miss Pauling shot him a disgusted look and then checked her watch. "Shit! I am so late!" Even with one arm hampered by the cuffs, in a few jerky but efficient movements, Miss Pauling had put her outfit back together again, with only a few stray hairs falling out of her bun as evidence that anything had even happened. Scout knew he looked fine, his clothes never even got out of place to begin with, but somehow he still felt wrecked.

The impulse to beg her to stay was hard to resist, but, hey, you should always leave 'em wanting more, right? And he knew she wanted more; she'd been right on the edge of coming when the the radio had burst into static. She'd been so shaky and hot there at the end, with all her muscles tightening and her heel digging into his back--

"Remember, Scout, secrecy!" Miss Pauling, having used Scout's split-second zone out to gather up the box and skedaddle, yelled back to him down the hallway as she turned the corner out of sight. He gaped after her, not having time to gather up anything to say back before she was out of yelling distance.

And then he was alone with the background buzz of monitors and machinery that he hadn't noticed at all when she had been in the room. He wiped his mouth again, though it was really just the phantom memory of Miss Pauling's body on his face that he was chasing after. It felt like he was crashing hard after a high, like coming down from a Bonk! binge, times ten. 

He was starting to get the feeling that running wasn't going to fix this one.


End file.
